Chapter 8 · Shadow Deal

"Sit. Down."

Cain didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. The command hit like a physical blow. He slammed the metal chair back into place—screech of steel on concrete—echoing through the cramped safehouse. He didn’t even look at me. He was too busy stripping the obsidian plating off his chest, muscles still twitching from the star-core surge I’d shoved into him.

I didn’t sit. I backed away, heels clicking against the grit.

"You can't just order me around because we're bonded, Cain. This isn't a leash."

He stopped. Slowly, he turned. His eyes were still humming with a predatory gold light. He didn't say a word—he just stepped into my space. One long, lethal stride that erased every inch between us.

He didn't grab me. He just leaned in. His chest was inches from my face, radiating heat like a furnace.

"It's not a leash," he whispered. The rasp of his voice vibrated in my own chest. "It's a lifeline. And right now, you're the only thing keeping me from ripping this room apart. So sit. Before I decide to make you."

My pulse hammered against my throat. The air felt thick, charged.